


Consequence

by nuclearpanda31



Series: Jedi Lost [1]
Category: Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Emotions, Fights, Gen, Inquisitor Cal Kestis, Manipulation, Pain, Seduction to the Dark Side, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:35:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27813127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nuclearpanda31/pseuds/nuclearpanda31
Summary: Cal finally unearths the location of dozens of force-sensitive children, unaware that Trilla has been one step ahead of him the entire time.Will Cal succumb to his emotions, or will he be able to ward them off in the name of the Jedi Order?
Relationships: Cal Kestis/Trilla Suduri | Second Sister
Series: Jedi Lost [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2035051
Comments: 30
Kudos: 54





	1. Capture

* * *

  
  
“Like you said, Trilla. I’m persistent.”

And persistent he was; there was no way he would let the second sister get her hands on the holocron, which was now sitting snug in his poncho. His saber ignited, a spark of solid blue energy emitting from his recently constructed weapon.

The second sister, Trilla, stared him down with an utmost sinister smile, slowly circling the self-proclaimed Jedi in anticipation. She was almost giddy from the impending excitement, already savoring that seductive rush of power and energy as the grip on her saber tightened; fingers flexed, waiting for the perfect moment to-

Now.

The Jedi has faltered for the merest of seconds - an opening as emerald eyes widened at the sudden strength, nearly forcing him down to his knees in the once-stagnant waters of the Bogano vault. Trilla had seemingly teleported to him, saber bearing down on him as red and blue energy swirled and popped like a pyromaniac's fantasy. Eyes narrowed and breathing became labored as the red-haired boy fought back, suddenly shoving the inquisitor in a manner that made her smirk even wider. Dark energy, mixed with indigo hued fog manifested from the boy's splayed palms as he pushed outward. It was enough to send her backwards, but not without her keeping foot on the wet stone. 

That’s when she got an idea. 

“Careful now, Cal Kestis. You don’t want all that power going to your head, now do you?” she taunted, dragging her lightsaber through the water enough to illicit sizzling and steam from its crimson tip. He hadn’t retaliated yet, instead choosing to mumble to the droid perched on his shoulder as he kept one eye trained on his current foe. 

Trilla was getting impatient. 

She hurled her lightsaber in spectacular fashion, it’s second blade igniting as it spun towards the Jedi. He barely managed to parry it, his own lightsaber being knocked off into some moss ridden corner as a look of fright took hold. 

Then he did it.

He reached out as Trilla pretended to advance on him, fiercely pulling her saber into his clutches.  
  


_Outstanding._

_  
_ “I’ve heard psychometry is a powerful ability. The ability to learn and process so much raw information from a single touch...” she breathed, stopping to look down at a struggling Cal Kestis. Her lightsaber sat tightly in his fist, his eyes closing and mind clearly racing as his droid companion beeped furiously in fright. The boy had clearly been untrained and unfamiliar with that of Sith possessed items. 

“Imagine how productive that could be in the hands of an Inquisitor. So I thought...why settle for one victory, when I can have two? When the _Emperor_ can have two?”

Cal was fighting as hard as he could. Each experience felt like a movie that couldn’t be paused or skipped, watching in terror as Trilla murdered countless Jedi like him as if they were nothing, displays of purples, greens, and yellows clattering to the ground in the form of broken sabers. Bodies crumpled like paper, the screams and pleas of innocent civilians filling his mind soon after.  
  
Trilla kneeled besides him, her lips curling into that all too familiar sinister smile.   
  
“Plus, you’re quite entertaining, you see. You’ve helped me hone my skills considerably, Cal Kestis.”

The smile faded from the inquisitor's face at the lack of verbal response, rolling her eyes and standing upright once more. 

“Don’t fret. We'll be sharpening _yours_ soon enough.”

Trilla pulled the boy's fallen saber into her grasp, observed it in momentary disgust, and forced it hard against his head.

* * *

Eyes flying open at hyperspeed, Cal shot up, his head meeting a hardened metal overhang instead. Groaning, he motioned to give his now-swelling temple a rub.

Too bad his hands were electrocuffed to the side - all he managed to do was increase the pain further as his wrists entered a frenzy, writhing as he growled in both fear and anger. 

“Gah! BD, where are you? BD-1! Where are we?” 

His eyes darted around, finally soaking in just where he was. It was a dismally gray, tiny room with a severe lack of furnishings, brandishing only a sink, workbench, and some kind of locker. Lying on the workbench was...

“BD-1!” 

His head had been completely disconnected from the rest of his chassis, rendering him useless as his parts lie scattered amongst the steel table. He could put him back together. Right? He’d be fine.

The Mantis crew would surely find him, wherever he was, and rescue him as he would have done for them. Sweat was now trickling down his forehead as he contemplated, finally closing his eyes as his head landed harshly against the poor excuse of a pillow.

_Trust only in the force._

Although, what had that trust gotten him into to begin with?

_Quiet. Trust only in the force._

Everything in the outside world fell silent as he repeated the line of his fallen master, hoping to bring some solace to his current predicament. 

It didn’t last long as the mechanical whirring of a blast door echoed through the room, his brief moment of peace abruptly coming to an end as a heavy presence weighed on his shoulders, stifling his breathing and seemingly dominating the atmosphere of the room. 

“As you asked, my Lord.”  
  
Heavy footsteps made their way across the metal plated floor, Cal only then realizing that he was completely immobilized and his eyes had equally refused to comply with his demands. The voice was Trilla, of that he was certain, and this Lord...something was ominously familiar about him.

It was then that the energy that had manifested from Trillas saber came pouring back through his mind, various images taking hold of his consciousness.  
  
_“You are an Inquisitor of the Sith. Further failure will result only in explicit suffering. Is that clear, Second Sister?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Trilla clawed unsuccessfully at her neck, this Lord holding her in a visible choke hold from afar. His voice was oddly mechanical, and breathing labored and full of static. Cal was feeling everything she had during this moment - fear, regret, and of course, the obvious inability to breathe nor move._ _  
_ _  
_ _The Second Sister managed to croak out a response._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Y-Yes, Lord Vader...”_ _  
_ _  
_ The image faded away as quickly as it had washed over him, though he had little time to recover as that same hauntingly black helmet gazed down on him from above. The Lord's presence alone seemed to drain all hope and courage from the air around him, Cal feeling as though he were trapped in some abyssal depth of despair and fear.  
  
It was reminiscent of his attempts at meditation back on Bracca, post-death of his master. Each one leading to failure; each one leading only to more anger, regret, and self-loathing. And this Lord Vader seemed to bring out each and every one of these and then some.  
  
  
_**There is no emotion.**  
_  
  
_Yeah, sure there isn’t.  
_ _  
_ _  
_ _**There is peace.**  
_ _  
_ _  
_ _Is there?  
_

_  
_ The images that flooded his mind prior to his duel with Trilla took form again, still recalling the cold touch of glass. Still recalling that brazenly red saber and black-clad armor that stared back at him, eyes tinted with the call of the dark side.  
  
_What was going on?_ _  
_ _  
_ “Let me GO!”  
  
The force lock he had been placed in broke, the piling of incoherent and seemingly doomed memories causing him to reach a boiling point. He gritted his teeth, breathing heavily as he came face to face with Lord Vader and Trilla, the later only smirking with matte-gray helmet in hand.  
  
_Screw not being angry._ _  
_ _  
_ _The blood of dozens of children would be on his hands if he refused to act; the future of the entire galaxy, perhaps._ _  
_ _  
_ “You surely feel it too, my Lord?” the Inquisitor queried, looking up towards the towering Sith with a glint of hopefulness in her eyes. He merely continued his mechanized breathing, folding his arms as he motioned for two guards to make their way forwards. Cal hadn’t even noticed them - they were brandishing lightsaber-equipped staffs, each one emitting the occasional flicker of electricity.  
  
Cal didn’t even know what to yell and cry out at this point, his throat becoming numb from the incoherent words he’d been screaming unaware since the moment he’d regained the ability to speak. All he could release were guttural growls that would surely have frightened BD-1, let alone the Mantis crew.

“Take this boy to a more...suitable environment. You will accompany the guards, Second Sister.”  
  
To hear his words in the flesh was a completely different experience than just a memory alone. Cals anger turned solely to fear as the two guards strolled behind him, unlatching some type of clamp as the deceivingly guised bed turned into a mobile prisoner transport, the cuffs on his wrists tightening and new ones clamping down on his ankles.  
  
Even the slightest flinch was sending painful, but mostly annoying jitters of electricity through his tired body. The Second Sister was blissfully enjoying the show, nodding her head to the apparent authority figure as he turned and left - Trilla came close to the boy, who at this point, was dead silent minus the occasional groan.  
  
“Is that a tear I see, Cal Kestis?” she cooed with a hint of mania, extending out her pointed glove and aggressively wiping the underside of his left eye. The surprise pain of the sharpened fingertip mixed with the influx of electricity had him grunting and gritting his teeth more.  
  
So he spat at her.  
  
And the worst part of it all was that she simply laughed, motioning the guards to move forward as she shadowed behind.  
  
“You’ll come to regret that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading y'all! Please let me know if you have any questions, concerns, or suggestions to help me along the way. It's been quite a while since I wrote.
> 
> Also note that this 'cutoff' from canon means that Cal and Cere have never truly reconciled, and Cal sees a completely different memory when holding Trillas saber. Who knows what the consequences of this will be? He's clearly harboring some anger at her lies.
> 
> Next chapter will be posted soon!


	2. Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cal's willpower and perseverance is tested beyond the limit as Trilla has her way with him.
> 
> The crew of the Mantis struggles to react to the loss of their anchor.

* * *

  
  
He did, in fact, come to regret it.  
  
  
It wasn’t too terrible at first, her sticking to asking about knowledge. About locations. It was a cycle; Trilla asked the questions, Cal wouldn’t answer, and yet she remained content. Calm, even -- a word he guessed wasn’t in her vocabulary.  
  
  
And then she pulled out the holocron, neatly wrapped in Cal’s poncho that’d been torn from his shoulders. She toyed with it, raising it and lowering it in her palms as she eyed the now attentive Jedi.  
  
  
For the most part, he’d been able to drown out most of the inconsequential things - this brief moment of hyperawareness revealing himself to be in an unnecessarily large area, sitting alone under a single spotlight as red beams flickered in the distant corners. The machine he’d been strapped into, for however long, blatantly stood out from the otherwise empty room.  
  
  
He had been able to forget about the holocron, though not without consequence. Repeating the same lines of the Jedi code brought nothing more than some false solitude in a place of darkness; every now and then he heard the guards mutter some snide comment, with a small chuckle from the Inquisitor following.  
  
  
“What? No pleading? No begging for the lives of your potential acolytes to be spared?” she mused, suddenly dropping the holocron in her palm and concentrating. The corners began to spread apart, a cyan glow emitting from it’s core.  
  
  
“Stop!” Cal finally managed to produce, an intrigued Trilla switching her attention.  
  
  
What mentally sounded like a bold and intimidating command came out as nothing more than a desperate, broken plea. He wrestled the restraints out of sheer determination, ceasing when he found the electricity-infused cuffs to shock at an even higher voltage, leaving bruises in their wake. The room was deathly silent, nothing but labored and shaky breaths and the occasional hum of the holocron filling the void.  
  
  
“Humor me then, Cal Kestis. There is quite literally no way out of this...”  
  
  
She paused, turning towards him with a devious grin as he tried his best to build an unbreakable façade - but he wasn’t fooling anyone. Especially someone who had seen this numerous times before from seemingly unbreakable Padawans, herself included amongst them.  
  
  
“Surely you must know that this entire holocron has already been stripped clean of its secrets? Lord Vader had been rather... _insistent_ on it’s recovery.. _.”  
_  
  
Her words were laced with venom as she threw the holocron across the room, it’s fragile frame and glass structure breaking almost instantaneously as it collided with the metal wall.

  
Cal felt himself shatter with it.

  
“I’m glad that matter has been handled, aren’t you?”  
  


Cal did not know how to handle a defeat so great. In every battle, every trial he had faced before, he had always emerged as the victor in some way, shape, or form. Always recovered or came out even stronger than before.   
  


To know that he had utterly failed, placing all of these children at risk - _no, even more._ The task of rebuilding the Jedi Order was, in hindsight, no small feat. There had always been doubt.  
  
  
But now, that’s _all_ there was. Doubt and despair.  
  
  
He was _drowning._ Trapped in one of the darkest places imaginable surrounded only by those who wished him dead. No matter the amount of times he’d repeated his former masters words - to trust only in the force, this feeling had only intensified. It clawed at his throat, stifled his breathing, and quite frankly _exhausted_ him.  
  
  
“What do you _want_ from me, Trilla?!”  
  
  
It was probably the most aggressive sound he’d get out; he was astounded at the amount of fatigue that one sentence caused as he slumped his head backwards, meeting nothing but cold and rigid metal.  
  
  
She slowly turned to face him, that devious grin taking hold once more as Cal closed his eyes, trying so desperately to catch a moment of relief. Her arm suddenly flew upwards, palm raised, as the guards besides him began to move to the side.  
  
  
“I want you to _break_ just as I have, Cal Kestis. I want you to feel as _shattered_ and _beaten_ as I did…”  
  
  
The machine started up, and without warning, a pair of charged spike plates came face to face with the Jedi. Trilla savored every moment, watching the look of complacency quickly melt into one of fear and apprehension.  
  
  
“How did it feel when foolish Jaro Tapal sacrificed-”  
  
  
“No! Yo-”  
  
  
Cal's retort ended prematurely as the spikes suddenly surged forward, a maelstrom of electricity flowing through his body. He’d gotten the occasional zing while working with electronics on Bracca (to Prauf’s dismay, most of the time) but it was absolutely _nothing_ like this. It felt like every vein in his body had been set on fire; as if his entire body had been submerged in a basin of liquid durasteel.  
  
  
His back arched and body convulsed, Trilla mockingly shaking her head at the sounds of struggle and pain as she looked on in pity.  
  
  
He couldn’t _breathe -_ had the electricity completely fried his lungs? What was meant to be a grotesque cry sounded nothing more than that of a dying womp rat on Tatooine.  
  
  
“...himself, leaving you alone and abandoned, hopelessly clutching onto a dogma of a defeated Order? The same Order that Cere once stood by, until she felt what it meant to wield _true_ power?”  
  
  
Cal wanted so _badly_ to respond, to berate her for daring to mention the name of a man she knew nothing of. To defend the character of the woman who…  
  
  
He honestly thought would have attempted a rescue by now.  
  
  
_No. There is no way they would abandon him; they weren’t like that. He’d been with them long enough to recognize that.  
_  
  
“You are _wasting_ your power, Cal Kestis. Wasting it on trivial, inconsequential debacles that have gotten you nowhere but _here._ I’ve seen what you’re capable of, and so has Lord Vader.”  
  
  
She was circling him like a beast does its prey, making sure to pay close attention to the tension building in his face. The faintest quiver of his overworked lips, paired with the wrinkling of a forehead that had visibly been through hell and back.  
  


It would be a process; a long, grueling one at that. For Cal, that was.  
  


But she was patient, having all the time in the worlds to analyze every crack, every flaw, and exploit every weakness to the fullest. To scrutinize, shape, and mold him into something greater.  
  


And the doubt was already sown.  
  


Every single moment of suffering, of him experiencing what she once had simply _fueled_ her in a way only describable as euphoric.  
  


“W-we use power for good. You use it t-to...manipulate. To control. Y-you’ve got the wrong Jedi for that.”  
  


Trilla could _smell_ the unease, the uncertainty, hidden behind that sliver of boldness he’d managed to keep. She narrowed her eyes a bit, nodding towards the guards as they shocked him once more.

A pity, truly.

“Look what that _good_ has done for those children.”  
  


Her cape twirled with her as she strode to the exit, smiling at the euphonious, guttural screams serenading her eardrums.

* * *

  
  


The crew of the Mantis sat quietly, save Greez, each in their own state of contemplation. Merrin sat peacefully with eyes closed, her magick rune swirling with strings of green energy and the occasional pop.  
  


“Hey, uh...you two need to eat. Why don’t you...put that thing away” Greez proclaimed, carrying multiple plates of hot food and still managing to point a hand at Merrin. The stone fell, her eyes opening as she caught it gracefully and blankly stared down her interrupter.  
  


“I am trying to focus, Greez” she replied plainly, though not refusing a steaming plate of rare bantha meat. He managed a slight smile as he turned to Cere, who was also equally deep in thought -- the underside of her eyes were dark due to exhaustion, constantly staying up day and night as she tried to repair the connection she’d built with Cal.  
  
  
_Unfortunately, it was nowhere to be seen._  
  
_Had he shut her out?  
_  
  
“Thank you, Greez” she said, the tiredness in her voice apparent as she shakily took a plate. Medium-well, of course. They passed along cutlery, with Merrin refusing, and began to dig in, though the food was the least of their concerns. The ship was different now; the confidence, wit, and charm of a certain Jedi no longer providing that homey feeling it once held.  
  
  
Now it was just a hunk of metal, floating through space like a leaf in the water -- no destination. No real purpose; just a blip in a sea of stars.  
  
  
That was, until Cere finally spoke up, gently placing her utensils down and tensing her hands to a fist, a clear sign of anxiousness from the usually steadfast woman.  
  
  
“I...I know where Cal is. I have.”  
  
  
Both companions looked at her -- Merrin in shock, and Greez in passive antipathy as he facepalmed.  
  
  
“Oh boy…” he mumbled, sensing the nightsisters dismay. Merrin slammed her palm down, all sorts of metals and durasteels clattering at once.  
  
  
“And...and you’re just _now_ saying this? I...I have been trying for _days_ to reach out to him. Why have we been sitting idle, while he more than likely _suffers?_ ”  
  
  
Cere just closed her eyes at the brashness of the words thrown at her, remaining composed as she took a breath -- she turned towards the nightsister, then glanced to the side in apparent reluctance of her revelation.  
  
  
“Where he is...we need a plan, we’d need allies. Just the three of us...it’d be suicide. We would be no good to him dead.”  
  
  
Merrin was barely satisfied. “And where is this supposed suicide planet? I have survived on Dathomir my whole life, considered the harshest of worlds by many. What cou-”  
  
  
“Nur, Merrin. Fortress Inquisitorius. Where _I_ was held. Where they turned Trilla to...the dark side…”  
  
  
“Then you two need to...find your friends, whatever it is that you require. We need to rescue him, we all surely know what he would be doing if it were one of us? To blindly look past that...it’s…”  
  
  
“It’s wrong. I _know_ , Merrin. But, throwing ourselves inside the heart of the Inquisitors won’t do him any good…”   
  


There was a brief pause in her voice as she turned to Greez, the slightest glimmer of hope shining through her eyes.  
  


“Captain...do you have any contacts that could support our efforts? That _aren’t_ going to get _us_ captured or suddenly be used as bargaining chips?”  
  
  
Greez halfheartedly chuckled, a small sense of relief washing over as the old Cere appeared, albeit momentarily. His smile faded as he walked over to the now flourishing terrarium, clearly deep in thought as he fiddled with a piece of Bonshyyr; Cal‘s personal favorite.  
  


“I...I dunno, Cere. If that place is even half as insane as you make it seem. It’s not like we’ve got an army of Jedi to just...run in there, grab ‘em and go, right?”  
  


Cere wished he didn’t have a point - curse the Lateron for coming to the logical conclusion, and for once, being her check and balance. It was quite normally the opposite.  
  


But, Merrin was also right.  
  


To do nothing was borderline treasonous to the relationship they’d formed, and would be interpreted as complete betrayal.  
  


And that would play _exactly_ into their hands. There was no doubt Cal had already felt it, as they hadn’t exactly left off on great terms.  
  


She knew what she needed to do.   
  


This was her responsibility. This was the burden she bore, because who else is there to do so?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will probably be a lot...less torture-y, and more emotional. And hopefully longer, I feel like they're a bit short so far!
> 
> I just wanted to experiment with it here since I've always been intrigued in the whole "reconditioning" process - surely, it's more than just electric shocks, and more along the lines of sowing things like doubt, fear, and using manipulation tactics. (I promise I'm sane)
> 
> Also, I'm not planning on writing any romance, at least not at the moment. My mind was dabbling with the Trilla/Cal route, but I'm also one of those people who doesn't think every story needs a romance! I dunno, maybe y'all can help me decide that. I'm going to add it to the tags anyway, because...I think it's possible.
> 
> Thoughts? Comments? Please let me know if you like the direction, you absolutely hate it, or have any suggestions. Leave some kudos if you liked it!
> 
> Next chapter will be posted next week!


	3. Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trilla senses something more within Cal than what he may perceive. 
> 
> Cere prepares her assault on Fortress Inquisitorius with the help of Merrin.
> 
> Cal has a dream that may hold a deeper meaning.

Cal tried to direct his mind towards _anything -_ the first meeting between him and BD-1 on the grassy steppes of Bogano, and the moment of joy the two had shared as they bounced from mesa to mesa, eager to find hidden wonders and teachings of the late Eno Cordova.  
  
One in particular had managed to lodge itself in his mind.  
  
  
 _“Failure is not the end. It is a necessary part of the path.”  
_ _  
__  
_It was probably the only thing keeping him going, these piecemeal quotes and lukewarm memories of what felt like eons ago.  
  
“Hey, BD-”  
  
It seemed as if he’d made this mistake numerous amounts already in whatever span of time he’d been confined to this cell. Each time ending in bitter disappointment as his words landed on empty, hollow walls and the tattered fabric of his jacket - the place a friend once sat.  
  
A month or so ago, now would be the time where he’d be telling himself to dare not feel emotions. To dare not think that hope is lost, or that the path forward was impossible to traverse.  
  
He didn’t care as he felt a tear run down his cheek, stinging the place where Trilla had so harshly sliced earlier. Whenever earlier was, that is.  
  
Quite frankly, the Jedi Code could go to Hell, because it surely did not account for situations such as this. Situations where the force was leached from every living thing in a perverted quest for power and knowledge.  
  
 _Words can only do so much._  
  
 _Which is why he needed Cere. Merrin. Greez._  
  
 _Where are they?_  
  
The ping-ponging dialogue in his head was interrupted as a louder, gravely voice boomed from directly outside the cell. He skidded to his feet, not caring that he looked like a frightened child as he backed into a corner to face his mental intruder.  
  
The man was around his height, dressed in blindingly white worker garb. He wore a mask that was eerily similar to that of the Second Sisters, but Cal did not feel any of the heaviness that permeated the air whenever she drew near.  
  
He was holding a small plate of food; some kind of fish, water, and a brown, very evidently manufactured cube of...something. 

“Don’t do anything stupid.” the voice growled, though quite frankly it sounded as intimidating as a squawking Bogling. He pressed some keys on a terminal outside the cell, and the red and white plasma barrier clicked off instantly - the man started walking inside, when the realization suddenly hit.  
  
This man was alone.  
  
Not wanting to spend another second in the dreadful cubicle, Cal chose to squash any internal debate and instinctively reached outwards.  
  
The next few moments felt like a blur. He’d pulled the man backwards to where he himself had been standing only moments ago, turning back for the tiniest of moments to see him stumbling back up.  
  
And then his body froze; arms, legs, and torso all halted in time. He felt the last bit of breath leave his lungs as the man force pulled him back via his throat in a fit of rage, slamming his still locked body against the steel wall until there was no more height to climb.  
  
“Wrong move, Jedi.”  
  
He was completely defenseless as his body slowly returned to his control, only for his arms to immediately try to grasp at the invisible fingers wrapping themselves around his oxygen deprived throat. The man did not relent, a maniacal chuckle escaping his lips until the pressure suddenly dispersed as stars filled his already blurred vision.   
  
Cal collapsed to the ground, nothing more than a sputtering and writhing mess as the sweet essence of life filled his shriveled lungs. White noise only comparable to that of a cutter on Bracca filled his eardrums; a warning of sorts, as his body slowly mended itself into stability.  
  
 _In. Out. In. Out._ _  
__  
_The noise waned as his body regained the little strength it’d possessed prior, immediately focusing on two voices that were bickering loudly in the background. He still had a residual cough, never having experienced (and hoping he wouldn’t again) the power of a force choke.  
  
“You are a _fool,_ Third Brother. What did you honestly expect?”  
  
“Exactly this, and I certainly got some fun out of it.”  
  
Cal flinched as he skidded back into his corner, turning to see Trilla force pushing this Third Brother into the wall that was twisting and bending from the sudden pressure. Bolts and screws popped out, Cal dodging one as it ricocheted around the cell as he was forced to let the scene play out.  
  
“Leave. And for the future…”  
  
Trilla was applying even more power to her push at this point, Cal being taken aback by the brute force these two showed towards one another as the Third Brother suddenly freed himself and jutted his chest forward.  
  
“...this one is under _my_ jurisdiction _._ ”  
  
Trilla force pushed Cal back a bit and switched the barrier back on, all in one swift motion; he hadn’t realized he’d been creeping forward through the ordeal, and paid so dearly with another blunt blow to his spinal column as he crumpled forward.  
  
“Can I...stay on the ground for a few minutes, at least?” he groaned, rubbing the latest addition to his collection of injuries.  
  
He couldn’t see the Second Sisters face, but imagined her having some sort of smirk in response to his dry attempt at humor. Sure enough, she gave a baleful laugh, strutting towards the cell. Cal instinctively took a step backwards, the feeling of defenselessness finally starting to take hold as he rubbed his aching back. 

The Third Brother could be seen trotting off, shaking his head as he disappeared down the hallway.  
  
“I don’t know, can you? If you had stayed obedient, I wouldn’t have had to get my hands dirty.”  
  
She’d spread her arms apart tauntingly, and Cal couldn’t help but notice the lightsaber that swung from her waist. _If he could-_ _  
__  
_“Go on, try it. Might be fun.”

He refused to give her the satisfaction and instead slinked back into the solid metal excuse for a chair as she observed him.

“Why are you here? You gonna torture me again?” he asked, burying his tired face and sighing heavily. The sheer amount of willpower required to mask the pain he was experiencing was downright exhausting. Everywhere was bruised, scratched, or discolored, with no chance to heal due to the constant ordeals.

“On the contrary.”  
  
Her plain response did nothing to satisfy the Jedi’s stress as he hoisted himself up, leaning against the wall as he eyed a curious spot of blood that had been left behind - his blood, from a recently opened gash on his cheek.  
  
“Then what do you want, Trilla?” he exclaimed, pushing himself off the wall and striding towards her; as close as the red barrier permitted, that was.  
  
“You already got the holocron. Just...let me go. I’ll go back to being _trash_ on Bracca or something.”  
  
The Second Sister exhaled a little more than usual, beginning to pace calmly in not-so-deep thought.  
  
“If only it were that easy, Cal Kestis...but you see, you’re _far_ too valuable an asset to just...be thrown back into the sea.”  
  
She flicked her hand like a fisher does an unwanted catch, Cal just rolling his eyes and snorting.  
  
“Yeah, well, sorry to ruin your little fantasy you’ve got going on, but you can't use an _asset_ that doesn’t want to be used, Trilla.” he said bluntly, refusing to look at her further.  
  
 _Where was this bravado coming from?_ He didn’t know, and quite honestly didn’t care in the moment, though he could tell the Second Sister was becoming rather impatient as she craned her neck. The quiet hum of static and electricity combined with the look was rather unsettling.  
  
“You’ll be groveling for more than just this cell soon enough, Cal Kestis. When you come to the realization that your pathetic hopes of rescue have been in vain, when everyone you cared for has left you to rot...you will change, heed my words.”  
  
The modulator in her helmet increased the weight of her words considerably; just a strip of red and black staring him down in a dark, cold cell. It was enough to get to anyone, and he knew that she could smell it. The fear, the doubt; the gnawing feeling in his stomach that there was the slightest chance everything she said was unavoidably true.  
  
It happened to her.  
  
Who’s to say he was immune to this?  
  
Only she knew how long she’d been tortured, conditioned, and taught to manifest the very same feelings that had been clouding Cals conscious as of late.  
  
It was definitely this damned place. Constantly dark, artificial lights, and no view into the outside world would drive any sane person mad.  
  
Before Trilla had the chance to leave him, he quickly stringed together something that’d been clawing at him from the start.  
  
“What’ll happen to the children? You going to kill them? Do to them what you’re doing to me?”  
  
She just gave another one of those _stupid_ laughs. How Cal wished he could wipe the painfully obvious satisfaction from her face.  
  
“Patience, Jedi. Isn’t that one of your _virtues?_ ”  
  
And so he was left alone once more, gripping his fiery orange hair in frustration and contempt as he gritted his already pained teeth. To top it all off, his stomach growled, mocking him for his act of defiance that likely cost him his only meal for the foreseeable future.  
  
He hadn’t even realized it before, but it was so cold that his breath was visible, floating in front of him as it drifted onwards. Cal had never imagined himself being jealous of _air_ , of all things.  
  
Was all of this really worth that loss of freedom?  
  
The punch that dented the not-so-impervious plated wall seconds later told him otherwise, a guttural yell roaring from his parched lips.  
  
Trilla paused her departure for but a moment, not wishing to miss such a glorious development.  
  
Vader would be pleased.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
It felt strange holding a weapon as unique as Cal’s.  
  
Containing the hilt and emitter of both Cere and his former master was something she suspected was not the norm amongst the Jedi, no matter the point of time. The rough, industrial edges of hers combined with the elegant alloy frame of Jaros weirdly complimented one another - a patchwork design, fitting to that of a survivor such as him.  
  
She wished that it wasn’t in her clutches right now, setting it down gently on the very workbench he’d used to construct it.  
  
“You still wanna go through with this?”  
  
The coarse voice of the Lateron was undeniable, Cere turning to the captain as he plopped himself down on the messily made bunk. She followed suit, grabbing a stool as she stared at the entrancing white lights of the engine swirl in a maelstrom of electric waves.  
  
“I have to try, Greez. _We_ have to try. We owe him, and those children, that much” she said softly, still eyeing the weapon she’d have to wield on her forthcoming mission. Greez simply sighed hopping off of the bunk in an awkward faction.  
  
“I know that. Just...remember what you said? We’re no use to him dead, yanno?”  
  
The gray haired Lateron was right. Cere herself had many doubts about the path ahead, and had even managed to convince herself that this mission wasn’t just solely about rescuing the captured Jedi.  
  
It was also about sending a message.  
  
“Cal needs to know that he hasn’t been abandoned…” she started, the Lateron looking at her wide eyed as his arms formed questioning triangles against his waist.  
  
“You would be surprised at how the dark side manifests. I have no doubt that Trilla fell, in part, because of my failure to protect her. To save her. She was alone in the darkness, and the longer we sit here chatting, the more that grows in Cal.”  
  
Their conversation was cut short as Merrin appeared, swirls of green purulence encircling her slowly forming body; Greez nearly screamed as he stumbled back onto the bed, Cere merely facepalming.  
  
“Would...you stop doing that! Are you trying to kill me?” the Lateron exclaimed, clutching his chest with one of many arms. The Nightsister rolled her eyes, turning towards Cere in a look of worry.  
  
“What if it is too late? They have had possession of this holocron for days, it has surely been studied and...documented, whatever it is you do with one. Cal will know this; how would he handle such a defeat, alone for that matter?”  
  
The question was one that Cere did not wish to know the answer to. She knew that Cal was strong, but even throughout their journey she had sensed the subdued darkness in him, no doubt due to the deaths of those he deemed closest. Not to mention that he was, technically, still but a Padawan, and had foregone training during the most important years of development.

“The most that any of us can do is...hope. Hope that he’s strong, which he is, and that he hasn’t lost sight of his teachings. That the force is nowhere and everywhere at once, connecting us, even if it’s impossible to sense.”

There was a certain poetry to the Jedi’s words, clearly resonating with the crew as they nodded in agreement - even if Greez didn’t quite know what he was agreeing to.  
  
“We shall see soon enough, I suppose. I’m coming with you; Cal is the one that gave me this... hope when it seemed none existed, even in a place as dark as Dathomir.”  
  
Merrin turned to Greez, who was visibly sweating at the thought of being left alone.  
  
“You do not need fear, Greez. I can cloak the ship long enough for us to go in; my sisters will aid me, as they always have.” she said, gesturing upwards to some unknown force.  
  
The Nightsisters' words did little to comfort the Lateron as he trotted heavily to the cockpit, leaving the two alone while muttering doubts about their mission. There was an awkward silence, Merrin still being a recent addition due only to the insistence of Cal.

In Ceres eyes, she still had much to prove; but of course she would accept any help she could get.

Even if it was from one who wielded the force in ways that she had been so vigorously taught against. 

“I know that you do not trust me. But...for this to work, you must. For Cal.”

The witches' words caught Cere by surprise; she hadn’t learned much about the Nightsisters of Dathomir, and the limited knowledge that existed had painted them as savage, uncivilized clans that thrived off of the dark side of the force.

Merrin was different. Open-minded and chivalrous, ready to do the right thing.

If Cal could trust her, then so could she.

“I know. I...trust Cal, so I do you that same honor.”

Merrins lips curled into an appreciative smile, leaning her body against the doorframe as she eyed the occupied workbench.

“That was Cal’s. You are going to use it?” 

Cere was hesitant - there was no getting in without it, but the thought...the thought is what got to her. The prospect of wielding a weapon that could so very easily trigger the same feelings that had almost led her to the path of darkness.

It was a bit ironic, using his own weapon to rescue him.

“Yes. I am. It feels...fitting, in a way”

Merrin shifted a bit, turning her attention back to Cere as she spoke. 

“So...what do you propose?”

* * *

Cal had dared not attempt to mediate in fear of retribution, but the exhaustion had proven to be too much. Sleep was the safest of the choices, and he’d somehow managed to achieve it whilst lying against the freezing metal wall.

It was relatively calm at first, the same indigo fogs and crumbled stone façades greeting him as he sat on a mossy, cobbled floor. The silence was welcome, and as he rose the path forward became apparent. 

And then came the sirens - the same eardrum rattling Imperial alarms that had blasted during a previous dream that felt like eons ago. His dream self gasped, the sharp intake reverberating around the seemingly unconfined space as though it were nothing but a metal box. As he turned, the world seemed to fade outward as the foreboding corridor of an Imperial Star Destroyer elongated itself from nothing.  
  
Not again.  
  
The sirens grew faint as he stepped forward, the transition from cobblestone to metal plating jarring his senses as everything behind faded into the same metal monstrosity.  
  
He had no choice but to walk forward, the lights growing dim and the sirens completely fading away as it was replaced by the silent hums of lights, and the occasional hiss of a vent. The shape of a doorframe appeared through the darkness, him placing his palm onto the frigid metal as it opened in a single swift motion.  
  
The revealed room was eerily familiar - a variation of the room that he had arrived to the Fortress in, minus a torturous bedframe and instead filled with various trinkets and gadgets, the workbench that had held his droid companion now buried in countless aged scrolls and documents, each weathered to a degree that made it’s words barely discernible from the parchment.  
  
“Ba-doo?”  
  
His eyes shot to the bed, where a fully functioning BD-1 was eyeing the Jedi in curious fervor; although this version was...changed. Black and white paint that only reminded Cal of one thing.  
  
The Empire.  
  
He hesitantly reached to pat the erroneous variation of BD, only to find his hand fading completely through it’s chassis. The droids beeping subsided, entering stasis as it neatly folded itself together.  
  
Before Cal had a chance to explore further, the lights dimmed, minus a crimson red glow emitting from one of the previously dormant trinkets.  
  
 _Strange_ . It was shaped exactly like a holocron, but...it was wrong. Twisted, demented, with jagged corners and opulant engravings that seemed otherworldly to him. It reminded him vaguely of Dathomir and it’s grotesquely beautiful designs hidden deep in the heart of Kujets tomb, where Malicos had lost both soul and sanity.  
  
It was...alluring, a red beacon of warmth inside of a frozen tomb of darkness. It invited him to touch, to feel; to experience whatever it was that lay hidden inside it’s frame.  
  
The invitation grew louder - whispers of the dead and gone, of those lost to obscurity and time but entrenched in this cubic prison. It grew brighter as he stepped forward, his footstep echoing as loud as the archaic Zeffo bells that once chimed in the Tomb of Eilram.  
  
Cal had no idea what was going on - he felt both in control yet completely powerless, being able to stall his hand mere inches from the false holocron. Wisps of red and white energy filled the gaps of his strained fingers, wrapping around like a free flowing river.  
  
What was he doing?  
  
He couldn’t move his hand away, the allure fading but the whispers increasing in veracity and harshness as any remaining light vanished from view - voices that told him to _do it_ , to _control it_ , and to _harness it_ hissing in his ear like a dying Bane Back.  
  
“Do it.”  
  
It startled him, but he was frozen. Locked in place by some shadow-like entity that had formed besides him, oppressing his every attempt at recourse as it took shape.  
  
“Huh?”  
  
It was all he could muster as the entity revealed itself to be _him -_ the same _him_ that he had seen on his otherworldly experience in the Zeffo tomb, dressed in Inquisitor garb and wielding the signature, circular double-bladed saber that had caused all of this to start. _His_ hair was now crimson red, a streak of white breaking the pattern as he looked on with a scheming grin. This false version of him had veins visibly branching from the slits of his eyes, skin cracking like the drylands of Tatooine.   
  
All he heard was a snort as his hand was forced downwards onto the demented holocron, everything fading from view into a stagnant scarlet fog. He had fallen onto his knees and palms, a thin layer of water reflecting his exhausted face back at him.  
  
“Look at me.”  
  
Before he could see the source of the voice, he had awoken back in his metal cell of solitude. He blinked rapidly, trying desperately to shake the image that now clung to his mind like a parasite as the world spun rapidly around him.  
  
  
  
 _That...dream. If it could even be called that._ _  
__  
__What did any of it mean?_

Cal had _obviously_ seen a holocron before, but this... false one?  
  
The red glow. The overly extravagant edges and alluring whispers promising power and knowledge...  
  
It was clearly a dark side holocron. It’s existence in Cal’s dream is what concerned him most, considering he had never once laid eyes on one.

Though...the surge of power that had tingled through his fingertips at the moment of contact was...revitalizing, even lingering in his natural state. It prickled at his skin like the harsh blizzards of Ilum, but that same warmth. That same enticing aura…

“Wake up!”

The final barrier between dream and reality collapsed as he shot up, coming nearly face to face with two Purge Troopers; they each wielded an electrocharged staff, and Cal did not have pleasant memories of being prodded with them.

Both guards looked to one another, the leftmost shrugging as his companion sighed. 

“Fine. _I’ll_ do it. Hands out, Jedi”

Cal _wanted_ to struggle, to show that he wasn't just ready to submit to his captors and let them break his spirits...but something had changed.

He didn’t see the point of resisting anymore. At least physically; _mental stability and focus were what he needed most_ , he assured himself as the stun cuffs clasped together; they sparked with an azure glow, one such particle landing on his already damaged arm as it caused him to flinch. One of the troopers forced him to his feet as he stumbled, the man snorting as he shoved him onwards.  
  
"Where are you taking me?" Cal demanded to know, though clearly not in much of a position for such a thing. His voice was noticeably more hoarse from his sleep, the realization dawning on him that he'd not drank or eaten in...however long he'd been confined. One of the guards snorted as a blast door opened, revealing yet another offensively bright room, decorated with banners of Imperial Insignia and racks of various Purge Trooper weapons that had seen more then their fair share of beatings.  
  
A training area, like the Dojo at the Jedi Temple, though he suspected the methods were much more extreme than some floating droid that could barely hit better than a Stormtrooper.  
  
The tiled, white floor in front of him suddenly gave way, mechanical engines whirring as it peeled away to reveal a river of molten lava, the room severed in half and connected by bridges that couldn't possibly sustain someone for long. The right sided guard interrupted his observation, shoving him face first _directly on one of the bridges.  
  
_ Heights didn't usually scare Cal, but his mind gave an exception to the river of death that was mere feet from his face. His stomach sank as he hastily skidded upwards, backing to the opposite side in fear as the stun cuffs ejected themselves from his wrists in a static _"pop"_ , the clattering to the floor echoing throughout the hollow room. He stood ready - legs finally steadied and feet firmly planted, eyes darting around and trying to find _some_ way to make sense of this. His heart raced, it's beat pounding his eardrums as a clear sign of fight-or-flight response.   
  
An intercom buzzed on, nothing but crackling static and electric interference reverberating around him for what felt like an eternity. The two weapon-clad troopers stepped forward, craning their necks and tauntingly spinning their staffs as the realization struck him. Sparks of electricity bounced from the floor, and he instinctively reached for a lightsaber that wasn't there.  
  
 **"Begin."**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking of making the next chapter one from a different perspective. It'll be very action packed for sure, and will further test Cal - I'm sure we can all guess what's about to happen; how will he fare in the state that he's in? 
> 
> We might also see if Cere and Merrin make their attempts at rescue, or their plans get foiled. 
> 
> Remember; comments help. I'd love to hear some feedback, no matter how critical or not it happens to be. Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> Next chapter may be a little late due to finals.


	4. Regret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cere makes a bold move, penetrating the Fortress Inquisitorius.
> 
> Cal fights for his life, but not without endangering it himself.
> 
> The Inquisitors prospects of turning Cal begin to bear fruit, or so it seems.

* * *

  
She still remembered the first time she’d felt that towering presence; heavy and oppressive to the point where it’d felt as if she’d be consumed by the air itself. The cuffs that held her writhing body to the device as he drew near, her tear stricken eyes barely agape but enough to see the unmistakable shape of a lightsaber hilt dangling from his belt.

The mechanical breathing as this force of nature clasped the restraints even tighter, the machine starting up in a cacophony of beeps and whirrs - she knew what was coming, but she needed to stay strong and fierce in light of the darkness.

This man, clearly more mechanical than human, tormented her with words of violence. Threw words that pierced her will like vibroblades as she screamed for days on end, constantly in a state of exhaustion and delusion.  
  


_Your master has abandoned you. Embrace the dark side or perish like the rest._

_She is coming. I know my master. She will come!_

_We shall see.  
  
_

She never did.  
  
And that fact was now a part of her; a tumor that grew with each passing day with no sign of remorse.   
  
Though this tumor _fed_ her body. Nourished it, and all she had to do in return was let her emotions flow.

Locked away in a place where knowledge was a near impossible thing to obtain, at least in her state, she slowly caved. The torture sessions grew shorter. The reconditioning grew longer, and soon, she was even allowed outside of that damned cold cell and awarded an actual, hospitable room of her own.

 _A prize for an obedient dog_ , she knew, but did not dare say.

But being obedient was better than death.

Avoiding death required her to fight, and soon, she was brutalizing stormtroopers left and right in the newly constructed Dojo - so much so that they created a specialized troop specifically for the Inquisitors to take out their newfound anger on. Ones that wielded electrically charged staffs that at first found themselves digging into charred flesh; that changed when she began learning the true power of the dark side.

It was, coincidentally, an accident. The slightest raise of a hand as a feeble attempt at a block after her staff clattered across the tiled floor and into the abyss below; she was in fear, and that fear brought out power she didn’t know she possessed. A ripple through the air and force itself as dark energy manifested from her palm, trapping the smug trooper completely in place as it struggled to breathe.

As he fell to his knees, she rose in triumph, grunting in awe at the guttural cries and growls as the armor-clad soldier writhed and seized before her. She seethed and yelled, even laughing as every vein in her body was ignited in ecstasy at the sight of the now still trooper.  
  


She saw herself in Cal Kestis.  
  


The lights in the observation deck dimmed as she hummed in excitement, nodding towards a trooper as they clicked and pressed a dazzling array of buttons and switches; in mere moments, the entire floor was transformed into the same hapless layout she’d been thrown in. Floors became walls, and ground gave way to reveal an endless abyss of flaming opaque oranges and yellows.

She watched as the Jedi fumbled, thrown harshly into the ground - even by her standards. The troopers twirled their batons in ardent fury as Cal skidded away like a scared loth cat, desperately looking for some measure of defense against the impending onslaught.  
  


_Fool. Look to your right.  
  
_

As though hearing her thoughts he looked over; confused at first, then emerald eyes growing wide at the realization - a rack of weapons, various types ranging from electrostaffs to vibroswords.

She wondered if he’d genuinely heard her insinuation as she watched a pair of bloodstained hands wrap firmly around the fabric-sheathed hilts of two vibroblades, ripping them down in haste as they fell to his side.  
  


_Jar’Kai. Interesting and rare. But effective, nonetheless.  
  
_

Trilla was itching for someone to play their part, but she knew her place as she calmly folded her palms over one another. That same towering presence to her left had not lost its effectiveness over the years one bit, and each intake and exhale of mechanized breath seemed to fill the air with that signature sense of belittlement to those not its source.

The mask she wore did little to hide this fact; she knew this would float through the force and into his very being, fulfilling his never satiated quench for power for an inconsequential amount of time.

Luckily, all eyes were down below, waiting eagerly and hungrily as if waiting to feast - and a feast for the eyes they would get, or else.  
  


* * *

  
The leftmost trooper took the first swing.

It’s staff crackled to life, whirling straight towards him in unexpected prowess as Cal barely managed to block it with the hilt of his offhand blade; he immediately retaliated, swiping it upwards as the steel cut into the hardened glass visor of the now stumbling trooper.  
  


_You’ve got this Cal. Focus.  
  
_

With the other trooper temporarily dazed, his companion rushed forward like a charging uxibeast, helmet crashing into Cal and sending him rolling into the rack of weapons. They rained down on him; a comical response to an otherwise brutish act as he coughed harshly, barely rising in time to deflect an attack on his side. Blades clattered and sparks flew as he strengthened his defense, pressing back in an x formation long enough to land a kick and brief force push as he panted and grunted - nothing more than a starved and tortured animal, willing to do anything for that ever-so-slim chance at freedom.

Before he even had a chance to catch his breath, both troopers were back in their original positions, spinning their staffs and laughing at the sight before him.

“Don’t know about you, but I’ve not even broken a sweat.”

“Careful now, don’t want to make him angry, do we?” the second trooper sneered, cracking his neck and turning towards the Jedi.

…

“If I had a saber, you’d both...you’d both be long gone.” Cal spat, though not without stumbling over his words; the taunting was working, as much as he’d hate to admit. This fight wasn’t fair - he was starved, beaten, scarred, and cast aside as nothing more than a potential pawn for...whatever it is these twisted Inquisitors had in mind for him.

Meanwhile, these two got to stand proud, thinking that they mattered in a place like this. Having the _audacity_ to think any of this was...simply an O.K. thing to do.  
  


Cal _wanted_ to make them think twice.

Cal _would_ make them think twice.  
  


A sensation that he’d only felt one other time before had crawled it’s way to his palms, weaving around the blades like a gift to be unraveled, then up the tattered sleeves of his makeshift vest and into his very being.  
  


_Is this what actual power felt like?_  
  


He recalled the time aboard the Albedo Brave - the desperation he had felt as his master was ruthlessly gunned down by those he once called his friends, looked at as nothing more than cattle out for the slaughter. He had cowered at first, until that very desperation had manifested itself outwards, freezing the entire onslaught of troopers. Cal hadn’t thought much of it, looking at it as a mere emotional response in a situation that warranted it.  
  


But...did that warrant it?

_Did it even matter?  
  
_

He didn’t have for ethical dilemmas as a barrage of blades, this time from all directions, clattered and pummeled him in fury. The metallic clangs were deafening, reducing his stamina as his breaths stuttered to the beating of the blades he held.  
  


_Can’t... do this for much longer.  
  
_

Both body and mind weak, he used all remaining strength to push back hard on his attackers, sending them back mere feet as he fell to his knees. His vision was blurred and stars zigzagged across as if in his own personal hyperjump.

One of his own goals he'd had no time to even think about over the years; his desire to explore the galaxy, unlocking hidden secrets and finding new things to discover. That'd all been awakened over his journey throughout the variety of tombs.

If he died here; if he gave up here, those dreams would never be reached.  
  


_Keep. Fighting.  
  
_

“Giving up already?” one of the troopers mocked, circling him like a hunter does its prey; waiting for that perfect moment to strike down the _oh so vulnerable_ Jedi that kneeled before him. Cal, still deprived of oxygen, looked up, watching as his comrade joined in as he gripped his aching chest.

“Get up and fight, Jedi!”

The next moment was a blur.

Force permitting, he’d used the vibroswords to hoist his body up, and in a flash he had swooped to his invitee. The crack of a bone and the severing of an artery were all heard as he pinned the shocked trooper against a wall, the hilt of the blade nearly snapping apart as Cal growled bestially.  
  
"How... was... that?" he spat in venom laced breaths, taunting the dying man as a sinister scowl painted his face.

The animal-like dominance quickly faded as his breathing stifled and grip loosened, the Jedi first looking down towards the broken hilt, then staring up into the now exposed headpiece of his sputtering victim. Thick, viscous blood dribbled outwards, trailing down his hands and wrists as he pulled back in shock.

His time of regret and anguish at his actions was cut short, however, as the raging cries of the second trooper howled behind him, Cal barely turning around in time to parry the attack as a vibrosword flew out of his grip and skidded to some unknown corner.

“You…”

The trooper was bearing down upon him now, forcing Cal to this knee as he struggled against the surprising enragement of the trooper. He gritted his teeth, mentally solidifying the hold his tired feet had found against the floor. Sparks from clashing durasteel landed on his face, singeing his recently acquired beard - he flinched at the pricks, but refused to lose his hold.

“...you will pay, Jedi!”

The trooper used all his might to push down in a final volley, the edge of the blade grazing Cals cheek and adding to the variety of scars he’d already collected. He cried out as the trooper tumbled besides him, both men temporarily incapacitated at the huge amounts of energy expended like faltering supernovas.

The room’s air felt heavy; burdened with death and the pain of the souls inhabiting it. Cal could feel it as he lay, the room's history seeping through him like a parasite.  
  


_The death. The despair. The rage.  
  
_

There was movement; scuttling of plastoid armor and boots beating the ground heavily as he turned.

Too late.

A hand gripped his throat and pulled upwards, knocking him breathless as the trooper carried him to the wall. He writhed, kicked, punched, all wasting precious air that could not be restored.

And then his back found a wall, pain shooting through his spine as facial muscles contorted in agony.

His eyes opened, and two his right hung an ironic symbol of his current predicament - the other trooper, still hanging by a blade as blood pooled by his dangling legs. The wall was cracked; struck with such a force that even Cal was briefly terrified by. The head had dangled to the side, and a lifeless eye was discernible through the tinted glass of his visor.

The desperation was buzzing in his mind, adrenaline fueling the little resistance remaining as he kicked, punched, kicked again. White spots of light permeated his now vignette-like vision; he needed to do something, but no amount of force push that his weakened state could produce would get the hulking trooper off.

At that point, something took over him; a sudden urge fueled by the desperation to survive he’d so valiantly suppressed for too long as his hand lifted. It was barely visible through his dwindling vision, but ripples through the air and a seemingly magnetic force were unmistakably present.

And then, as if the force itself took control, his hand slammed hard against the helmet. He felt the coldness of the plastoid, the rigidity of the visor - each scuff mark from blade and sword apparent against the sweat of his palm as it seemingly pressed harder, beyond his control. His breathing quickened, feet finding their footing as the troopers strength waned.  
  


* * *

  
Cere and Merrin felt it simultaneously; the slightest ripple through the force. The manifestation of something substantial taking hold, or losing control, they couldn’t tell.

It was enough to make the tired Master sit softly as she gripped her forehead, the feeling still fresh in mind.

“It was dark.” the Nightsister spoke, arms folded as she looked to the floor in contemplation. Cere only nodded as she looked towards the cockpit, where Greez sat patiently as the ship drifted on course to Nur. Streams of blues and whites illuminated the otherwise dark room, skidding by the windows in spectacular fashion.

“What was it?”

Cere bit the corner of her lip in thought, looking up at the seemingly innocent Nightsister.

Merrin had been trained in the force, but was not bound by the rules. Did not understand how to read the effects or interpret it’s mysterious events that protruded through time and space effortlessly. Cere herself had only felt a ripple once before - the massacre of the Jedi Order that wounded the force beyond words.

This wave was something differently entirely. It reeked of anger, sadness, desperation. An explosion of emotions that had reached its climax through the force in a moment of terror.

“I...I can’t say...but you’re right, it was dark.”

Merrin shifted uncomfortably, never seeing the woman so unsure of her words before then. Before she could respond, the sound of a hyperdrive in respite echoed throughout the ship - a soft _whoom_ as it stalled in a sea of stars.

“Uhh...guys?”

The Lateron, voice brimming with fear, yelled to the lobby as they scuttled to his side.  
  
A massive Imperial blockade, consisting of dozens of Star Destroyers, hovered over it’s stormy atmosphere. Blinks of lightning could be seen over the grey-blue sea; a pale, red dot stuck out in the clouds from its surface.

“I need to do this, now…”

Merrin conjured the relic of her people; a pale white object, mystical in its properties as streaks of green and white began to emit from it’s core. The Nightsister chanted as the others looked on, and then around, as the ship began to fade into a translucent display of the same colors she weaved from the stone.

Greez, partially petrified at his disappearing ship, gripped the controls tight as he maneuvered the Mantis down through the blockade. All eyes, minus Merrin, were dead set on the Destroyers and TIEs around them. Relief washed over as the Nightsisters magick worked its wonders, completely hiding them from both sight and scanner.

“I...okay, okay, this is fine right?”

Cere nodded, placing a palm on the slightly less terrified Lateron as he gazed onwards as clouds began to pelt the glass shields with condensation, the durasteel plates of the ships exterior rattling like drums. As they descended, the fog of the oceanic planet gave way to reveal…

“Fortress Inquisitorious...”

The weight of her words fell on deaf ears, their meaning lost into the endless sea that sat beneath them as the ship drifted down.

She’d never expect herself to return to such a place willingly; a place that had nearly broken her and turned her against the people she swore an oath to protect.

All she could fixate on, though, was Cal. The prodigal savior of the Jedi Order as she’d mentally anointed him, capable of finally fixing what was lost. Broken. Torn apart.

The only thing the shockwave had solidified was her need to reach him in time.

 _I will not lose another Padawan_ , she thought, telling both Greez and a concentrating Merrin that she’d be back soon - company included. Greez wished her luck, but not without threatening her if she dared to perish in the giant metal labyrinth below. Her mind cleared and focus regained, she climbed into an escape pod.  
  


_“I am one with the Force and the Force is with me.”  
  
_

The pod ejected, her eyes closing as it barreled through the atmosphere at unprecedented speed, breaking through the pressure with little effort.  
  


_“I am one with the Force and the Force is with me.”  
  
_

She felt the pair of rebreathers she’d gathered rattle in her pocket, clashing with the lightsaber she had hastily clipped to the makeshift belt.  
  


_Hold steady, Cal.  
_  
  


* * *

  
_Extraordinary.  
  
_

That’s how Trilla would describe what was unfolding before her very eyes.

It was definitely growth, and it had warranted the attention of not just herself and Vader, but the Grand Inquisitor himself. They all stood stiff as boards, watching the Jedi with great attention as he had somehow found himself prevailing through power, they suspected, he unknowingly conjured.

Further proof that the heuristic approach was one worth repeating.

The fiery orange hair of Cal Kestis was all that could be seen from their angle, and a trooper that had been weakened to his knees. Ripples of indigo hued energy were trailing outwards from his palm, enshrining his body in an energy even she couldn't hope to duplicate.  
  


_How does it feel?  
  
_

She could not _wait_ to ask.

“My my, Second Sister...I must say, I’m rather impressed. For this to occur so...soon, is rare indeed…”

Trilla spared no expense at accepting the commendation, nodding towards the man she abhorred with false sincerity. He was tall and muscular, a foreboding presence matched only by that of Vader. A repurposed Jedi Temple Guard mask covered the face that not one soul inside the Fortress had laid eyes on.

He even wore the old Guard robes, something she was always...surprised about, but Vader had noted his eccentricity was nothing next to any capability he held in his connection to the dark side.

“I agree, Grand Inquisitor. It is promising, most indeed.”

The Grand Inquisitor only nodded in response, Trilla swallowing and turning her eyes back towards the scene - Vader, as usual, watched in silence as the Grand Inquisitor stroked his barely existent beard; he walked closer to the glass, more than likely revealing himself were Cal to look up.

Then, the Jedi stopped, the lifeless body held together by grip of the force tumbling over. Trilla furrowed her brows as she watched - Cal looked down at his hand, surely confused at the show of power he’d just put on. Frightened, even, as his eyes darted between the men he’d just killed using raw strength alone, who were almost double his size.

“Handle this.” Vader commanded, motioning towards the exit and sweeping the door open with the flick of a finger.

“With pleasure, my Lord.”  
  


* * *

  
_Guilt.  
  
_

Something he was entirely familiar with, but never to a scale such as this.

The pair of hands that he extended outwards were most definitely _not_ his hands; infected by some sort of...disease. Stained with crimson dried blood and burdened with acts he most certainly would _never_ commit, even when life itself was on the line.

So he stood, petrified by his own doing.

Terrified that he no longer felt the exhaustion and pain of moments past, instead replaced with vigor and tenacity.

The fact that he felt more alive than ever before wrought fear that twisted his insides, eating away at the connection he’d worked so hard to re-establish.

His own consternation was interrupted by the whirring of an elevator, and the undeniable stride of the Second Sisters boots crunching on shattered metals and plastoids.

She stopped before him, alone to his surprise, as she kicked up the arm of the drained trooper. It fell to the ground, it’s reverb echoing in Cals mind with far too much virulence as he flinched.

Trilla seemed interested, humming slightly as she studied his reactions.

“Do you know why you prevailed, Cal Kestis?”

He could only blink, his sight drifting from body to body, hand to hand, until finally landing on her intimidating gaze.

“T-the force.”

A modulated laugh as she continued walking, head turning towards the body that hung haplessly along the wall. Her gloved hand trailed the blade impaling it with a certain delicacy, Cal gulping hard and refusing to look further - when she noticed this, the sword was yanked and the body crumbled with a thud.

She strode over, blade in hand, and extended it outwards; light reflected off still fresh blood as it ran down, each drip to the floor feeling like the pounding of a drum through his body. It shook him to his core, and she was very much enjoying it.

“Perhaps…but, this?”

Her helmet shifted from sword to him, a stubborn refusal to believe his own actions.

To believe the consequences.

“You can’t deny it, Cal Kestis. You...you used your _desperation_ ; your _anger_ , and it made you **strong**.”

The second sister was correct, but he’d still try to deny the revelation. Stubborn, she was right about.

“I did it to survive.” he said harshly through gritted teeth; it wasn’t a lie, because he did want to survive.

But he didn’t know what for anymore.

In the short amount of time he’d been in the Fortress, it had managed to suck nearly all hope from his body like a leech - turned that hope into emotions he never thought he’d have to face.

At least not alone.

Not without Cere. Greez. Merrin. BD-1.

Prauf, even.

His master.

And two had even died for him.  
  


_If only he had been stronger, right?  
  
_

“I did it to survive too. Survival...it brings out the true nature in all of us…”

She stopped suddenly, turning her helmet towards the conflicted Jedi and meeting his gaze - at least, he assumed.

“Do you notice how much stronger you feel? The energy you’d been so _dangerously_ close to having naught of…”  
  


_If, by any chance, Cere were to show up, how would he explain it?_

_Was it justified? Was it ever?_

_Would she make him cut himself off from the force?  
  
_

The Second Sister was right. His body had felt rejuvenated; made whole again, all thanks to the dark side.

But with it also came that feeling of a cancer, some writhing mass squirming inside of him that felt like it had finally taken its root, perhaps even control. At the same time, it felt symbiotic, this manifestation playing savior and rescuing him from the brink of certain death as he had dangled in the air like a ragdoll.

“I…”

For the first time in a long time, Cal was speechless; his consciousness outweighed his ability to speak, each action stacking continuously until he’d surely become one with the ground. Sensing the indifference, Trilla unclipped the lightsaber that dangled from her waist. She held it lightly like a prized heirloom, running her fingertips along its intricate engravings and scriptures of ancient Sith code.

He unconsciously flinched, recalling the ordeal on Bogano and where it had led him.

“I remember my hesitance; my dismissal of power in the name of a code that had gotten us nowhere. A code that nearly got us both exterminated. Do you never question that, Padawan?”

Any hope of conveying an argument had been lost to him, forced to listen to the words that spilled from her lips without respite as they soaked into him like a sponge.

The Jedi Code had gotten him here to begin with.

Why should he be the sole responsibility for its continuation, when all it had brought was pain and loss in return?

Clearly, he was not meant to be the savior of the galaxy as Cere had so heavily drilled into his skull.  
  


* * *

  
Imprints of the fluorescent flora on the seabed were blinked away as Cere slowly rose her head, hearing the muffled voices of troopers thankfully swapping their rotation in the distance. She emerged, praying to the force that the dampness of her clothing and the steady trickle of water was not enough to alert the pair of guards facing away.

The room was bleak and gray; a dock of some sort for a submersible, and the various assortment of terminals and dimly lit lights as was the Imperial standard.

“Did you hear what happened in the Dojo?”

Cere paused, ducking behind a pair of cargo boxes as she listened attentively; her heart raced, the risk of the mission beginning to cast doubt amongst her mind.

“Heard that kid freaked out, did some crazy stuff. Glad we weren’t assigned there…poor bastards.”

The troopers continued their conversation as Ceres stomach sunk, the conversation striking a chord in her mind. Her heart felt heavy at the revelation that it was no sheer coincidence; the ripple she and Merrin had experienced was definitely their connection to the Padawan being affected.

By what, she was reluctant to find out.

With the troopers distracted, she managed to duck into the hallway - it was as long and foreboding as she remembered, though the lack of lighting played in her favor.

She recalled the paths that she herself had once taken in her escape of the fortress, down the winding hallways leading to the imprisonment center. The torture chambers, whose screams and cries still echoed in her mind as she darted from shadow to shadow; she never missed a beat, and her years spent hiding in the slums of Nar Shaddaa with Greez were proving quite handy.

She did, however, find the almost total lack of troopers jarring. The hallways were almost completely empty, and as of yet she’d only needed to avoid an extra two or three oblivious uniformed guards.

Perhaps, as the Jedi were exterminated, they thought less of the place and left it vulnerable.

The door that opened next told her otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...yeah! That was Chapter 4!
> 
> What do you think will happen to Cal or Cere? What about the aims of Trilla, Vader, and the Grand Inquisitor himself now that things seem to be falling into place?
> 
> As usual, comment below what you thought about it all, be it negative or positive. Leave a kudos if you enjoyed it!
> 
> Next chapter will be posted around New Years or a little after. I hope you're all safe and have a great holiday season!


	5. Enlightenment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cere engages both unknown and former enemies.
> 
> Trilla gets impatient. 
> 
> Cal is subjected to more of the Dark Side.

The door whirred open, the revelation of what sat behind stunning her for a moment before she’s able to react.   
  
A hooded figure, it’s outline illuminated by dim red lights as it watched intently out a tinted window; the figure was undisturbed by her entrance as she crept forward, still hidden by walls of machines and various gadgetry that seemed to beep and chime with each soundless step.   
  
There were definitely others in the room, hidden in the shadows, though she knew they would be of no immediate threat. All she needed was Cal, and those that stood in her way would not for long.   
  
“Cere Junda! What a most pleasant surprise…”   
  
The voice was muffled yet booming, hidden behind a layer of modulation as the figure turned it’s head ever so slightly towards her current position as she paused. Her hand instinctively grasped the saber clipped to her side in preparation, the figure turning fully.   
  
Red lights made it difficult to determine, though she was certain of the old Temple Guardian mask that sat on its face, demented and disfigured as it was. She rose slowly, unclipping the lightsaber as a heaviness settled in the air around them.   
  
“Which failed Padawan have you come to rescue, I wonder?” he asked, voice dripping with cynicism; one of superiority and power, yet cunning and...eccentric. Ceres grip tightened as she flexed her fingers on the hilt, bringing the saber to her chest and clutching it with both hands.    
  
_She couldn’t let those words get to her; not now, not ever._   
  
“Where are they?” she asked flatly, thumb readily hovering over the switch of the hilt as she watched him with steadfast eyes. His face may be obscured, but she could feel the halfwitted smirk all the same as he folded his arms across frayed robes.   
  
“Oh...you know...learning, sparring,  _ Padawan things  _ you could say. Though I’d think you’d agree Trilla to be  _ far  _ more than just that, no?”    
  
The mockery was eating Cere alive, and it took every ounce of restraint she held to not lunge forward and impale the fool.   
  
He simply laughed at her silence, arms unfolding as a palm slammed firmly on some hidden button behind him. The windows to the floor below dimmed, and as she started towards them a saber instead greeted her mere inches from her face. Walls sprouted out from the floor in quick succession, boxing in the few officers that had remained at their posts.   
  
There was a moment of pause as her eyes darted first to him, and then at the glimmering beam of plasma hovering before her; in a blur she raised her own, radiant sparks flying freely as cerulean blue clashed with blood red in a heartbeat. She pressed downwards, sending his saber skidding backwards towards the entrance as she threw herself up and towards the controls he’d triggered.    
  
With a single stroke of her weapon, the panel burst, mechanized shutters unraveling like tapestry as the room below came into view. In the short time she’d been allowed a glance, her heart had sank; her former apprentice and newest hope both stood, the later looking shell shocked as he stood in blood-soaked surroundings.    
  
She should have called out; should have done anything to signal her presence, but these aspirations were killed as the forced yanked her backwards, barely contorting her body in time to miss a fatal blow from the oddly calmed figure that did nothing more than chuckle. She panted, skidding on the overly polished floor with palms and feet as she looked up, straightening herself and regaining grip on her lightsaber.   
  
The man did nothing more than crack a few bones in his neck, their grotesque snaps echoing much too loudly in the compact room.   
  
“Surely you realize...your goal is unreachable. It’s too late for failed ambitions.” he mocked, the words adding to the weight that already bore heavy on her shoulders. She scowled, backing away as the mechanical shutters behind him fell back down alongside her spirits.   
  
“You’re wrong…” was all she could muster as she threw herself at him once more, saber clashing furiously in a repetitive fashion as she  _ hit  _ and  _ smashed  _ and  _ struck  _ until the figure was down to a single knee. Scorch marks from the barrage of her blade lined the floors and walls around them, superheated metals oozing orange like a forgemasters smelter as she paused her onslaught.   
  
Suddenly he'd procured a second lightsaber, this one shorter than the first and a virulently bright yellow; it’s hilt was snapped, but she recognized its intricately woven design, a wooden framework not usually seen on lightsabers wielded by mere Padawans and Knights alike.   
  
The man took notice of the study and swiped upwards with the second blade, searing through her upper thigh as she briefly cried in anger; she stumbled back, tightening her fist as her lip quivered in budding contempt.   
  
“Who’d you steal that from?” she spat, swinging forward and from the side as the figure dashed and dodged her attempts, lightsaber blade only finding scorched metal and glass to strike.    
  
He was skilled, and she could tell he’d received Jedi Training; the exact same she herself once had in the serenity of the  _ Jedi  _ Dojo.   
  
Not this cursed mockery of it.   
  
She panted, realizing she had done exactly what this mysterious scourge had wanted as the grip on her lightsaber slackened from increasing exhaustion.  
  
Instead of attacking, however, the figure indulged her.   
  
“I stole it from no one…”   
  
The man observed the saber for a second, tracing a gloved finger up the hilt before resting it below the radiating blade.    
  
“In fact, Master Yoda himself helped me construct it. I respected him a great deal, you know.”   
  
He flicked his finger upwards, the tip of his glove sizzling as it came into contact with the plasma. The man chuckled at Ceres' visible confusion as he let the weapon fall to his side, body engulfed in a moment of tense nostalgia as his attention shifted.   
  
A fallen Jedi.   
  
She wasn’t surprised.    
  
There’d been rumors for years that many Jedi had simply given up, allowing themselves to be captured. Tortured. And ultimately, converted to serve the interests of the dark side.    
  
Cere was one of the lucky ones, though the toll it took on her was great.    
  
She didn’t blame any of them, not at all, and she had a strong feeling that Master Yoda wouldn’t either.   
  
Survival does things to people; makes them change completely in a matter of days, hours, or even minutes. It’d almost changed her - the scars that marred her soul were constant reminders, and so was the place she stood so valiantly in.   
  
The man suddenly leapt forward in a show of agility that almost blindsided her, his attacks thus far being hermit-like and relatively normal, now increasing tenfold into those of rage and passion. A sudden desire to win, as if she’d struck a nerve without muttering a single word.    
  
His face may have been obscured, but the growling; the animalistic grunts and gritted teeth were unmistakable as he increased his barrage, pushing her back until the walls of the tunnel had seemingly shrunken in width. She held her own, parrying and blocking as his thrusts and swings grew sloppy; uncalculated and filled with emotion.   
  
And that was his mistake.   
  
She darted past him, grabbing hold of the meager railings that separated labyrinth from sea and propelling herself behind him as her saber followed suit as she called it back.   
  
In a single fell swoop, it did in fact return to her, but not without searing through the man's rib cage - the pungent smell of instantly cauterized flesh stung her nostrils as he collapsed to his knees, Cere breathing wildly as she rose from her crouched position. She whipped around, half expecting the man to be falling to his knees and muttering some twisted saying.   
  
Instead, he was gone, with not a trace left behind.  
  
She couldn't spare a moment of confusion as she sprinted to the Dojo at full force.   
  
Her life and spirit depended on it - and so did Cal’s.    
  
_ And maybe even Trilla's. _   
  


* * *

_  
“She has arrived. Do not make him aware.” _ _   
_ _   
_ Trilla's commlink crackled to life for an instant as the connection was closed soon after - the Third Brother, each word drawn out like the length of these god forsaken tunnels she so dreadfully dwelled in.    
  
There was no need to ponder who  _ she  _ was, and quite frankly,  _ she  _ didn’t want to think about it.   
  
Burrowed deep within layers of cold-steeled skin, her blood boiled.   
  
Ceres' latest obsession gets captured and he receives an attempted rescue in the blink of an eye while she was written off; a lost cause, no doubt. Someone not worth saving.   
  
She’d waited too long once.   
  
It’d be unfortunate to learn she’d made the same mistake again.   
  
The pathetic, stupefied Jedi stood frozen in place, glazed eyes still locked on the bloodstained hands he wielded. Trillas arms opened wide as she slammed a foot down hard, it’s reverberation freeing him briefly from the mental cage he’d constructed as pinpoint eyes met her masked face.   
  
“Embrace it, Cal Kestis. The longer you fight it, the more you suffer…” she chided, taking careful steps around him as his head turned, trying to maintain contact and ultimately failing.   
  
“No...no! I...I shouldn’t, I need to-”    
  
Trilla was getting  _ impatient.  _   
  
She reached out with the force, hands contorting inhumanly as he fell flat to his knees as every possible memory came within her grasp; each passed by like a holovideo as she saw every traumatic event of his short life unfold.   
  
And then she introduced him to  _ hers _ .   
  
It overwhelmed him at first, voice silent but mouth agape as his brows furrowed in pain and confusion. Trilla twisted her hand more, eyes closed as their very essences intertwined as a dazzling display of dark energies emitted from her palm. It spread outwards like smoke, lingering over the vents and eventually being sucked into the abyss below.  
  
  
_ Her capture on a foreign world she knew little of, Cere walking away and leaving her and younglings behind. _   
  
_ The very same torture that Cal had been put through, anger and pain in it’s fullest form. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Waves of electricity that blanketed her body, each one peeling off the layers of trust and affection built by her former master. _

_ A conversation between her and Lord Vader, the latter encouraging her to look deeper. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Encouraging her fullest potential.  
_ _   
_ _   
_ “That’ll suffice…”   
  
She freed herself from the lock, Cal tumbling to his hands and knees as he panted; exhausted, more so, from the events that had transpired in a single day alone. As she circled the burdened Jedi, cape twirling in tow, her commlink sputtered to life once more, the static catching her off guard.   
  
“Curse you, Third Brother! I’m  _ busy”  _ she hissed, tilting her head away from the piteous sight of Cal coughing ceaselessly. He chuckled into her ear, then took a more unexpectedly solemn tone.   
  
“Look, Trilla…”   
  
He _ rarely  _ used her real name, and for good reason. The missing digit on his hand was a good reminder, though he’d still muttered it in dire times.   
  
“...you should  _ probably  _ go help the Grand Inquisitor. I’m on my way, but...who knows, really. We both know how he is in a fight.”   
  
It was a well known fact that the Grand Inquisitor was an absolute  _ fool  _ in dueling, with Vader and the Emperor keeping him around as a mere vendor for knowledge of the old ways. Both her and the Third Brother had never dared mumble a doubt, as his power in the force  _ itself  _ was supposedly unmatched; not one Inquisitor had ever seen these skills in action, however.   
  
Apparently, that was about to change.   
  
“Watch the Padawan as soon as you get here. He’s in a...bit of a  _ trance,  _ you could say…”   
  
She cut the connection before he could object and strode off, paying no heed to the enervated Jedi who did nothing more than glance up from his pathetic stupor. Drool rolled from his glossed lips as he swiped it the edge of his bracer, lip quivering and brows furrowing rapidly at the sight of her departure.   
  
“Have _fun_ with those.. _. _ ”   
  
The elevator door closed with a slam, the Second Sister enclosed in darkness as it whirred it’s way upwards.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
_ “Mark well and listen...” _   
  
The words were distorted; otherworldly and modified. Dark and twisted and just  _ wrong _ to the point of agony. He knew that voice, but something was  _ off.  _   
  
_ Master Tapal. He said that, you know he did. Why are you doubting it? _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “You are still a frail child.” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Lazy.” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Mediocre.” _ _   
_ _   
_ Every word and phrase was  _ real,  _ bouncing and ricocheting around his skull in aggression - things that he knew his master wouldn’t say or claim, yet memories floating around because he  _ did. _   
  
He beat the bloodied ground with a fist, hitting a growing pool of moisture that had dribbled from his seemingly anaesthetized lips; it provided a modicum of relief and a false sense of grounding until the next wave hit.   
  
This time, he was  _ there.  _ He  _ was  _ the Trilla being abandoned by her master in a cave, surrounded by numerous younglings whom he’d never seen. He  _ was  _ the young Padawan being strapped to a chair - no, a machine that he knew all too well. One that fried away hope and faith and replaced it with pain and anger.   
  
He was  _ there  _ as Vader delved into her mind, plucking information out like an unwanted hair - the location of any potential Jedi he may not have known existed, or any Jedi artifacts not in his possession. Each pluck was excruciating; dragged out longer than needed to maximize the aftereffects of such a painful maneuver.   
  
It felt exactly like she had just done to him before leaving him in this decrepit state, and for a moment something took him over and he  _ laughed. _   
  
The pain had dug so deep into his psyche that he had  _ laughed _ , partially thankful that the Sister was no longer around to make some deprecating remark, though he wasn’t sure he’d care at this point.    
  
Cal clawed at his hair, grunting and beginning to scream with the little moisture he was able to produce. The world spun around him as he forced his uncooperative body upwards, tumbling towards a wall and landing harshly. The anger; the  _ pain _ felt like a parasite, each second growing in its intent to completely consume. To devour the little bit of sanity he’d been able to maintain.  
  
It was a _fire_ burning out of control from the inside out.  
  
“Let go.”   
  
It was his voice, but also wrong. Deeper, huskier, and clearly burdened with anguish beyond reprieve.    
  
Then he remembered - the pseudo-him from days earlier as he’d attempted to meditate that had, quite literally, forced his hand.   
  
As he landed on the ground on all fours yet again, coughing ferociously in his mentally-drunken state, he began to no longer care.   
  
He just wanted it to _stop_. There was no more fight left, expended either in survival or torture over his unwilling tenure as the latest experiment of the Inquisitors. As he blinked through blurred vision, the same pseudo-him had apparently decided to make an encore appearance; his hand was extended outward, and through the blur a crimson red saber sat ready in the other.   
  
_ An invitation? _   
  
In one singular, massive scream that rattled the entirety of the labyrinth surrounding him, he broke free. The apparition disappeared that same instant, once again abandoning him for some other forsaken purpose.   
  
Of what did he break free from? He wasn’t sure.   
  
Panels of the Dojo wall were either falling or hanging on by singular bolts as sparks flew, lights flickering wildly at the sudden influx of power and energies. Something was...off. Irregularity swirled in his mind like the vortex of a storm, sucking things in and spitting them out at untold velocities as the world slowly became easier to process.   
  
He began to rise, though an instantaneous flash in his eyes brought him back down immediately; a vision, no less, of that crimson red holocron sitting snugly in some ancient looking box. It was different than before, the surroundings nothing but black as indigo and purple fog rose from nonexistent sources.

Then  _ he  _ appeared, though the stance was different; this him was frightened, trying to turn and run as walls caved and rubble fell from the ceiling, ultimately burying them both as the vision ended abruptly.   
  
_ What was happening to him? _   
  
And what an absolutely  _ useless  _ vision.    
  
He swore, wiping his mouth yet again as he pushed himself upwards, palm to knee, as he got his bearings.   
  
The room was still sparking, though the flickering of lights had subsided exponentially, letting the full sight of his apparent destruction into view - the flags and banners of Imperial Insignia were torn beyond repair, their embroidery strewn about as the explosions of lava below sent their charred remnants flying. The windows to the observation deck were cracked, though a shield beyond them still prevented any sort of viewer from seeing inside.   
  
_ Probably for the better. _   
  
A noise to his right caused him to turn vigorously, hand instinctively force pulling a vibrosword to its grip and assuming a defensive stance. As the door opened, his eyes narrowed, pulling back a bit at the sight of the Third Brother entering.   
  
He was disheveled, and his lack of a helmet allowed Cal to study his features. Short, jet black hair similar in style to his though much less restrained fell upon his face as he slicked it back. His eyes were dark, a tint of orange blending in with otherwise sky blue an-   
  
It dawned on him that this face was entirely familiar, though not one by his own accord.   
  
A memory played briefly in his mind - one of the Third Brother, who’s name was apparently Jaxx, dueling Trilla in a much more primitive fighting pit. He was younger, and much more scarred than his current appearance would suggest.   
  
His wonder as to why she’d share memories such as this was cut short as the Brothers voice broke through the mold.   
  
“Are you done staring, Jedi?”   
  
“Don’t call me that.”   
  
The words shocked the both of them, and Cals eyes fell almost immediately at the slippage of words. He relaxed his stance, slowly letting the sword fall to his side as he looked back towards the Third Brother, whose arms were folded in skepticism.   
  
_ I didn’t say that. _ _   
_ _   
_ **_Yes, you did._ ** _   
_ _   
_ _ Great. Now what’s going on? _ _   
_ _   
_ **_You tell me, idiot._ ** _   
_ _   
_ “Gah!”    
  
Cal kicked a nearby shard of metal at full force, sending it spiraling down into the abyss below. He placed a sweaty palm to his forehead and one to his side, closing his eyes; trying to grasp literally  _ anything  _ about what was happening. These  _ voices  _ in his head that were both him and not him, dueling with one another as if vying for some prize.   
  
The Third Brother, seemingly unphased, rolled his eyes as Cal snapped back into reality, still shaken by the events that’d transpired and confused at his own inner workings. His flat look, however, soon turned to one of piqued interest as he approached - Cal instinctively shuffled backwards a bit, but stopped when he realized the intent was one of curiosity and not harm.   
  
“What did the Sister _do_ , I wonder?”    
  
Cal suddenly remembered the sword, his fingers wrapping gingerly around it’s hilt. In his mind, he’d already calculated dozens of ways to end this man's life here and there.   
  
But something in him told him  _ not to,  _ and the Brother knew this, smirking and looking down at the weapon that had now slacked downwards to the floor in apparent renouncement. Cal sighed and rolled his eyes, not realizing just how close the man had gotten and hitching his breath for a moment.   
  
“Couldn’t tell ya…” was all he could muster through gritted teeth, sharp eyes averting his gaze as they fixated on a torn section of wall. The Brother snorted a bit, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder and making his body shudder.   
  
**_The sword in your hand? Just-_ ** _   
_ _   
_ _ Listen to what he has to say first, fool. _ _   
_ _   
_ _**Why bother?** _ _   
_ _   
_ It took a  _ lot  _ for Cal to not scream at the voices, to tell them to shut the hell up and leave him alone - he knew he’d just end up looking crazy again, though, he settled with a slightly bleeding tongue as he kept his teeth barred. He blinked a few times, awaiting a response from the unsatisfied Brother who had clicked his tongue.   
  
“I think we both know the answer to that question…” he said, trailing off as a dark smirk took hold. Cal was about to speak as an ear-shattering eruption of glass and metals filled the room from the left, smoke and debris obscuring most of it, though the luminance of two lightsabers was clear as day.    
  
One blue, one red.   
  
The smoke cleared, both Cal and the Brother turning with cautioned steps as the apparent blades locked in a fiery display of melting plasmas; the colors were molten at this point, dripping and burning holes through the steel floor only visible by bright rings of orange.   
  
At first, neither bystander did anything, the Third Brother simply folding his arms and shaking his head in an apparent attempt to agitate the Sister. The laughs he produced sounded echoed and distant as Cals vision zeroed in on the person attempting to push Trilla back.   
  
_ Cere. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait y'all! I hope it was worth it though. With all that's going on in the world, sometimes it's hard to write something so dark and full of the opposite of what it needs: hope.
> 
> Let me know if you have any questions, comments, concerns; you know the rest! I'd love to hear some theories about how this "Second" Cal came to be and what it means for his future. 
> 
> What do you think will happen to Cere? How will Cal react now that something inside him has fundamentally changed?
> 
> Thinking of starting a twitter page just for updates on this, what do you guys think? See you all soon!


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